The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (4 page)

Madeline
had lived a mere year after that. It was impossible to believe, though no
surprise that no one had known, given the chaos that had claimed Wales in those
years. Rhys' heart clenched in recollection of the couple’s laughter as they
left to rejoin the knight’s family in Northumberland.

One
year they had savored together. It seemed far too little for the happiness they
had found.

“God
bless her soul,” the priest murmured and Rhys echoed the blessing.

He
was disappointed, he realized, though logically he should not have been. Though
he remembered Madeline only vaguely, though she alone could have thwarted his
ambitions, he wished his search might have ended differently.

It
would not have been all bad to have found some kin left breathing in these
sorry times. The rebellion in Wales against the English crown had plucked the
ripest fruit from their family tree, and there were precious few of the
multitudes of Rhys’ childhood left living.

With
Madeline deceased, he would possess Caerwyn himself. Rhys closed his eyes for a
moment, the vigor of his desire weakening his knees. He had grown up at Caerwyn,
he had learned to wield a blade there, he had joined the ranks to defend her
walls when he had been yet a youth. He loved that keep more than life itself,
he had dreamed of possessing her, he had despaired that such fortune could ever
come to him.

But
against all odds, Caerwyn would be his.

Rhys
gave Madeline’s name a last caress of farewell, then noted a word he had not
seen before.

“In
childbirth?” he asked of the priest, fear stirring within him. “Madeline died
in childbirth?”

The
priest nodded. “I am sorry, my son, but it is not uncommon for women to be lost
this way. It was said that her husband, Edward, was devoted to her, and I have
no doubt that he procured the services of the best midwife...”

“But
what happened to the child?” Rhys dreaded that his search was but partly
completed. The child would be a direct descendant of Dafydd. The child could
inherit Caerwyn in Rhys’ stead.

He
must know the whereabouts of the child!

The
priest smiled. “You have uncommon charity for a mere cousin, my son. How kind
of you to have a care for your kinswoman’s child.”

Rhys
spoke through gritted teeth. “What happened to the child?”

“Perhaps
it died as well.” The priest shrugged. “Perhaps the father raised it alone, or
wed again.”

“I
must know the truth of it!” Rhys shouted and the priest flinched at his vigor.
He was immediately contrite. “I am sorry, Father, but the matter is of utmost
importance to me.” Rhys swallowed. “This child would be the last living soul of
my kin.”

“Of
course, of course. Your devotion is most admirable, my son.” The priest ran a
fingertip down the ledger and frowned. “No other death is recorded here in that
year. I cannot imagine that the babe would have died unshriven if the priest
recorded the mother’s demise. There is no mention of a christening, but my
predecessor was not always complete in his records. No child was returned to
Lady Madeline’s kin?”

“Nay.”
Rhys was certain of it.

“How
curious. Perhaps it remained here, with the father...” The priest mused as he
unfurled the scroll, and Rhys barely restrained himself from snatching the
vellum from the old priest’s hands.

“Ah!”
The priest granted Rhys a smile. “There is a note here in 1403 that might be of
interest. Lady Catherine of Kinfairlie attended the funeral mass for the knight
Edward Arundel, who died in battle with Henry Percy.” The priest glanced up.
“It is writ that the old Earl of Northumberland wept a thousand tears for the
untimely demise of his son and heir, Henry Hotspur.”

“So
it is told in the tales I know, as well.”

“But
the account states that this Lady Catherine then took the babe of Edward to be
her ward, the child’s blood parents both being deceased.” He nodded. “One would
assume that the two ladies had been friends, for Lady Catherine to take on Lady
Madeline’s young child.” He removed his spectacles and considered Rhys.
“Perhaps your kin can be found at Kinfairlie, my son.”

“Perhaps
so.” Rhys donned his gloves, knowing his quest was not yet complete. “Where
lies this Kinfairlie, Father?”

* * *

Chapter One

The
auction of Ravensmuir’s relics promised to be the event of the decade. Madeline
and her sisters had spent the short interval between the announcement and the
event ensuring that they would look their best. Uncle Tynan had declared it
imperative that they appear to not need the coin, and his nieces did their best
to comply.

It
was beyond convenient that they could pass kirtles from one to the next, though
inevitably there were alterations to be made. They might be sisters, but they
were scarcely of the same shape! Hems had to be taken up or let down, seams to
be gathered tighter or let out, and bits of embroidery were required to make
each garment “new” for its latest recipient.

There
were disagreements invariably between each one and her younger sibling, for
their taste in ornamentation varied enormously. Madeline preferred her garments
plain, while Vivienne savored lavish embroidery upon the hems, preferably of
golden thread. These two did not argue any longer - though once they had done
so heatedly, for Madeline sorely disliked to embroider and had been convinced
as a young girl that it was unfair for her to endure a hateful task simply to
please her sister.

Now,
they bent their heads together to make Madeline’s discarded kirtles better suit
Vivienne, while Vivienne’s quick needle made short work of any new garb
destined for Madeline. Vivienne was also taller than Madeline, even though she
was younger, so the hems had to be let out.

Annelise
was shorter even than Madeline, so those hems had to be double-folded when a
kirtle passed to her. This often meant that the finest embroidery was hidden
from view, though this suited Annelise’s more austere taste. Isabella, sadly,
was nigh as tall as Vivienne, but could not abide golden embroidery. Her hair
was the brightest hue of red of all the sisters and she was convinced that the
gold of the thread made her hair appear unattractively fiery. When kirtles
passed to her, the sisters would couch the gold with silver and other hues, and
the kirtles would be resplendent indeed.

Finally,
Elizabeth had the last wearing of each kirtle. This had never been an issue,
for she seemed wrought to match the height of Isabella perfectly and was not
overly particular of taste. Elizabeth was a girl inclined to dreaming, and was
oft teased that she gave more merit to what she could not see than what was
directly before her.

But
there was a new challenge this year, for Elizabeth was twelve summers of age
and her courses had begun. With her courses, her figure had changed radically.
Suddenly, she had a much more generous bust than her elder sisters - which
meant that she turned crimson when any male so much as glanced her way, as well
as that Isabella’s kirtles did not begin to fit her. There proved to be insufficient
fabric even with the laces let out fully to grant Elizabeth an appearance of
grace.

Tears
ensued, until Madeline and Vivienne contrived an embroidered panel that could
be added down each side of the kirtles in question. Isabella, who was the most clever
with a needle, embroidered patterns along their length that so matched the
embroidery already on the hem that the panel appeared to have been a part of
the kirtle all along.

Shoes
and stockings and girdles took their own time to be arranged, but by the time
the sisters arrived at Ravensmuir and were summoned to the chamber of the
auction, no one could have faulted their splendor. They had even wrought new
tabards for their brothers, Alexander’s bearing the glowing orb of Kinfairlie’s
crest on its front, as was now his right.

* * *

So
they rode beneath the gates of Ravensmuir, attired in their finest garb. A
rider came fast behind them, a single man upon a dappled destrier. He was
darkly garbed and his hood was drawn over his helm. Madeline noted him, because
he rode a knight’s horse but had no squire. He did not appear to be as rough as
a mercenary.

Oddly,
Rosamunde answered some summons sent by him into the hall. She cried a greeting
to this mysterious arrival, then leaned close to hear whatsoever he murmured.
Madeline was curious, for she could not imagine what messenger would seek her
aunt here, no less what manner of messenger would ride a destrier instead of a
horse more fleet of foot. He had but a dog as companion.

“The
colors of Kinfairlie suit you well,” Vivienne said, giving Alexander’s tabard
an affectionate tug.

“This
work is a marvel!” Alexander declared, sparing his sisters a bright smile. “You
all spoil me overmuch, by sharing the labors of your needles.” He kissed each
of them on both cheeks, behaving more like an elderly gentleman than the rogue
they knew and loved. His fulsome manner left the sisters discomfited and
suspicious.

“You
were not so thrilled at Kinfairlie, when we granted it to you,” Vivienne noted.

“But
here there are many to appreciate the rare skills of my beauteous sisters.”

Years
of pranks played by this very brother made all five sisters look over their
shoulders.

“I
thought you would tickle us,” Elizabeth complained.

“Or
make faces,” Isabella added.

“Or
tell us that we had erred in some detail of the insignia,” Annelise
contributed.

“To
grant compliments are most unlike you,” Vivienne concluded.

Alexander
smiled like an angel. “How could I complain when you have been so blessedly
kind?” The sisters stepped back as one, all of them prepared for the worst.

“Do
not trust him,” Madeline counseled, the two elder sisters sharing a nod.

“Alexander
is only so merry at the expense of another,” Vivienne agreed.

“Me?”
Alexander asked, all false innocence and charm.

“Well,
at least you are not garbed like a duchess,” Malcolm complained. He gestured to
the embroidery on his tabard. “This is too lavish for a man training to be a
knight.”

“At
least you do have not to wear this horrendous green,” Ross said. shaking his
own tabard. “I would not venture to name this hue.”

“It
matches your eyes, fool,” Annelise informed him archly.

“We
spent days choosing the perfect cloth,” Isabella added.

“I
surrendered this length of wool for you, Ross,” Vivienne said. “And I will not
take kindly to any suggestion now that it would make a finer kirtle than a
tabard.”

Ross
grimaced and tugged at the hem of his tabard, looking as if he itched to cast
it aside. “The other squires at Inverfyre will mock me, for garbing myself more
prettily than any vain maiden.” He tugged at the tabard in vexation. “What if
the Hawk will not take me to his court?”

“You
need fear nothing. Our uncle is most fair, and Tynan has sent him a missive
already,” Madeline said soothingly. Her gaze followed the stranger and
Rosamunde as they entered the keep, her curiosity unsated by what she had seen.

“A
maiden might take note of you, Ross, if you look your best,” Elizabeth
suggested shyly. Ross flushed scarlet, which did little to flatter the fiery
hue of his hair.

“Our
fingers are bleeding, our eyes are aching,” Vivienne said with a toss of her
tresses. “And this is the gratitude we receive! I expected a boon from my
grateful brothers.”

“A
rose in winter,” Annelise demanded.

“There
is no such thing!” Malcolm scoffed.

“You
should pledge to depart on a quest,” Elizabeth suggested. “A pledge to seek a
treasure for each of us.”

“Sisters,”
Ross said with a roll of his eyes, then marched toward the nearest ostler.

Then
Madeline had no further time to wonder about the stranger who had summoned
Rosamunde. There was the usual bustle of arrival, of horses to be stabled and
ostlers running, of squires and pages underfoot, of introductions being made
and acquaintances being renewed. The stirrup cup had to be passed, sisters had
to dress and the company had to be gathered.

Soon,
the moment would be upon them. The auction that all awaited, the auction that
made the very air tingle at Ravensmuir!

* * *

“Every soul in Christendom must be here!” Vivienne whispered to Madeline as
they entered the chamber behind Alexander. Dozens of men watched their entry,
standing politely aside as the family proceeded to the front of the chamber.

“Not
quite so many souls as that,” Madeline said. She had felt awkward since their
arrival, for men seemed to be taking an uncommon interest in her.

“Perhaps
you will find a husband here,” Vivienne said with a merry wink. “Alexander is
most determined that you choose soon.”